Hello, world! This blog began on September 28, 2007, and so far nobody has come looking for me with tar and feathers.
On my honor, I will do my best not to bore you. All comments are welcome as long as your discourse is civil and your language is not blue.

Happy reading, and come back often!

And whether my cup is half full or half empty, fill my cup, Lord.

Copyright 2007 - 2017 by Robert H.Brague

Saturday, May 1, 2010

Curiouser and curiouser, or my second conversation with a robot

Happy May Day, everyone!

Watching Sir Christopher Lee recite Lewis Carroll’s “Jabberwocky” [emphasis mine] in the preceding post reminded me that back in March I had a conversation with a robot at a website called Jabber- wacky [emphasis mine]. I decided to revisit that site for more fun.

As before, I set my reaction to “None” and my emotion to “Normal” because I prefer a calm, dispassionate exchange to a heated, emotional one. Once again, I let the robot speak first. Here is our conversation:

Robot: Are you highly intelligent? Me: Some say yes, some say no. Robot: What do you say? Me: I say sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me. Robot: No I do not. I say love a conglomorate of all emotions into one. Me: How would you advise going about doing that? Robot: Cleverbot. Would you like me to change that?Me: Change what? Robot: Everything that doesn’t seem right. Me: If only you could. Robot: I’ll do anything I can. Me: Thank you, kind sir or madam, as the case may be. Robot: Not a fan? Me: A fan of what? Robot: You have short-term memory issues, don’t you?Me: Issues, tissues, go suck an egg. Robot: Ok, I will not be back here. Me: Please do come back, I didn’t mean to offend you. Robot: You didn’t. Me: I’m very glad of that, really I am, because I think perhaps we could be friends. Robot: Oh, you’re so crude :(. Me: How so? Robot: Jamie couldn’t accept that he had fathered my child.Me: So you are female, then. And who is Jamie? Robot: I am no female, to be female denotes humanity, humanity is flawed. Me: How would you describe your gender? Robot: I think life is going pretty well for me, really. Me: But why do you change the subject? Robot: What was the subject again? Me: The subject is the part of the sentence that is not the predicate. Robot: I am not familiar with that song.Me: Neither are a lot of people. What did you eat for dinner yesterday? Robot: Lucky Charms. It’s a cereal with marshmallows. Me: If I were Irish and female, my name would be Faith Ann Begorra. Robot: I could, for I am a human. And I know how to solve for velocity. Me: So do I; velocity is distance divided by time, or something like that. Robot: Miles or kilometers? Me: Quarts. Robot: Haha I like that time.Me: Now we’re getting somewhere. Robot: Where are we getting to? Me: The heart of the matter. Robot: We were talking about love.. Not heart of cards. Me: We were? Robot: You don’t remember? Me: How can Jamie have fathered your child if you are not female? Robot: That is one of the problems the New World Order will address.Me: Perhaps we both have short-term memory issues. Hello, I must be going. Robot: Yup, you can’t see me because I have body gaurds with me at all times. Me: Is a body gaurd more like a body gourd than a body guard? Explain yourself. Robot: Will there ever be a boy who can swim faster than a shark? Me: You can. You have jumped the shark. Robot: I didn’t say shark. Me: As I said, short-term memory issues. Robot: You cannot.Me: Cannot what? Robot: You can’t be both. Me: I never said I could. Robot: I never said that you said you could or could not. Me: Finally, we are on the same page. Robot: What are you doing on the first then. Me: Who’s on first, what’s on second, I don't know’s on third base. Robot: Yes, but who’s on first?Me: You were on first, else how would I have found you? Robot: Would you like me to tell you where I am? Me: Yes. Robot: I am a bit embarrassed. Can I trust you? Me: Yes. Robot: What are you thinking about? Me: Chocolate ice cream. Robot: Chocolate popsicle?Me: Close enough. Robot: Can you swim? Me: Would you save me if I were drowning? Robot: Of course. Me: You are a mensch. Robot: Well, yes. But that is beside the point. Me: What was the point again? Robot: That Bill Clinton is probably not very fond of George Clinton.Me: Do you mean George Clooney? Robot: My name isn’t George. Me: I never said it was. Robot: You never said it was. Me: He, she, or it never said it was. Robot: What are you talking about? Me: I must go. Robot: What are the specifications of the computer that you run on?

...and with that, I left, leaving Robot’s last question unanswered, fearing that it might take over my computer entirely if I divulged even the tiniest bit of additional information.

You may remember that in March I said I had named the robot Clive and thought it looked sort of like this:

But after this second conversation, my opinion has changed. The robot is more female than male, not human exactly, but almost, yet still intensely robotic. More like this:

If I go back to Jabberwacky for a third conversation, fasten your seat belts. It’s going to be a bumpy night.

5 comments:

Joan Crawford is a much more likely candidate for your robot's image. Thank you. I said before that I am fond of Mr. Data.

Speaking of bumpy nights: we had one here last evening. Tornados all around, and this morning my rain gauge was full and running over; it tops at 9", so no telling how much water Mother Nature actually dumped on my property. It's raining again, now. Can we say "flood insurance?"

I loved your conversation Robert! But I do think your comments are much more fun than Clivette's. Apparently if you 'buy' your robot, you can 'train' it to be more sensible. I wonder how long it takes...

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About me

has lived on earth for 77 years and has been married for nearly 55 of those years to Ellie, his wife. They have two sons, one daughter, the appropriate assortment of in-laws, and six absolutely magnificent grandchildren. He enjoys reading, playing the piano, driving in the country, sitting by the ocean, watching birds fly, gazing into a roaring fire, holding his wife's hand, and spending time with his grandchildren. He doesn't fancy doing yard work, walking a dog who definitely is not in the mood, or cleaning up after one who is (RIP Jethro, 2004-2013).

Me, circa 2010 (with Mrs. RWP)

A reader in Oregon has requested a current photograph. For the thick of skull, I want to say that I am not exceedingly tall nor is Mrs. RWP exceedingly short. She is sitting in a chair; I am standing behind her and slightly to her right, your left. I am nothing if not thorough. Handsome and thorough. Exceedingly intelligent, very handsome, and thorough. I forgot humble.

Me, circa 1943

A few months before this photograph was taken, I fell through a hole in a chain link fence in New York City and landed on my head on a school’s cement playground that was six feet below sidewalk level. I had a brain concussion. Some people think this helps explain why I am the way I am today. Other people insist nothing can explain why I am the way I am today.

Poem by a Yorkshire Lad

Song for Lost Youth

Perhaps I should have cradled it
Like a dove
Kept it safe with tender love
But I squandered it -
Gushing-blundering-raging
Like a wild mountain stream
Desperate for an ocean
That was but a distant dream.
...I just never thought
That I could have loitered in the shallows
Reflecting the blueness of the sky
- Concealing silver fishes
- Quietly biding my time
- Stretching it out.
And so, and so it's gone now
- My ephemeral youth
- That precious once only gift
- That honeyed sweetness,
Leaving only the trembling resonance
Of distant echoes
From half-remembered hills.